Understanding the uncomfortable middle of becoming an author
There comes a moment in many writers’ lives when clarity arrives — not as excitement, but as discomfort. You know something has to change: the way you write, the way you show up, or the way you relate to your creativity. And yet, instead of feeling motivated or energised, writing suddenly feels heavier. Sitting down feels harder. Resistance creeps in at the exact moment you decide to do things differently.
That experience is far more common than most writers realise, and it is not a sign that something has gone wrong. Very often, it is a sign that something important is already happening beneath the surface.
Why change is usually triggered by pain
Most people don’t change because they feel inspired. They change because staying the same becomes more uncomfortable than the fear of doing something new. A breaking point arrives — burnout, frustration, or a creative standstill that can no longer be ignored.
For writers, that moment often sounds like: I can’t keep doing this the same way anymore. That realisation matters. It is honest, and it is brave. But it is also the moment where things start to feel deeply uncomfortable, because knowing it is time to change and actually becoming someone new are two very different experiences.
Knowing happens in the mind. Becoming happens in the body. And the space between those two is where resistance is born.
When wanting becomes a must
For many writers, there is a long stretch of time spent wanting. Wanting to write. Wanting to finish a book. Wanting to take themselves seriously someday. But change often arrives when the pain of remaining in that “wanting” identity becomes unbearable.
When the idea of never finishing becomes more uncomfortable than the fear of actually trying, something shifts. That shift rarely arrives as excitement. It arrives as a physical knowing — a line crossed internally — a moment when the body says, Enough.
Once that line is crossed, there is no un-knowing it. Wanting becomes a must, and identity begins to reorganise around that decision.
Why the body resists even when the mind is ready
This is the part that confuses many writers. You have made the decision. You know you want something different. You may even feel committed — and yet your body resists.
That resistance is not a lack of willpower or discipline. It is biology. The nervous system is designed to prioritise familiarity and predictability. Even familiar discomfort can feel safer than unfamiliar freedom. So when you begin to change — even in a direction you deeply desire — the body reacts.
It tightens. It hesitates. It resists. Not because the change is wrong, but because the body is being asked to release patterns it has rehearsed for years.
The body’s attachment to the old writing self
Over time, the body memorises emotional states such as stress, pressure, urgency, and self-doubt. Those states become familiar chemistry — known territory. For many writers, familiar suffering looks like writing under pressure, relying on panic to produce words, tying self-worth to productivity, or believing that struggle is proof of seriousness.
So when you decide to write differently — more gently, more sustainably, with greater trust — the body resists. Not because you are doing it wrong, but because it is releasing an identity that once kept you safe.
Resistance is not failure
Resistance does not mean you are failing at change. Resistance means change is already happening. If nothing were shifting, your nervous system would not react at all. Resistance is feedback — a signal that something new is trying to stabilise.
Transformation rarely feels like motivation. More often, it feels like grief, because you are not just changing habits — you are releasing who you have been.
The quiet death of the old self
Becoming a new version of yourself as a writer often involves a kind of quiet internal death. It is the letting go of old coping strategies, old stories about who you are, and old ways of proving your worth. This process is not dramatic or visible to others, but it can feel profoundly uncomfortable on the inside.
Writing may feel awkward. Confidence may wobble. Old habits may resurface. That does not mean you are regressing. It means you are becoming.
Why writing can feel worse before it feels better
Writing often feels harder after you commit to change; after you decide to stop forcing, choose alignment over pressure, and stop relying on adrenaline to get words onto the page. The nervous system checks for safety and asks, Is this sustainable? Is this identity safe?
Resistance spikes not as sabotage, but as recalibration. How you meet yourself here matters.
Why force creates more resistance
When resistance appears, the instinct is to push harder, discipline it away, or override discomfort. But force tells the nervous system it is under threat. Breath shortens. The body tightens. Creativity contracts.
Creativity does not open under pressure. It opens in safety. Resistance does not need to be conquered. It needs to be met.
What surrender actually means for writers
Surrender does not mean giving up. It means releasing control-based identity. It looks like allowing shorter writing sessions without judgement, prioritising presence over output, and letting clarity arrive in layers rather than demands.
This is not a loss of commitment. It is a shift toward sustainability. Surrender allows the nervous system to exhale and the new self to stabilise.
Staying with the becoming
Transformation requires staying. Staying present through discomfort. Staying when things feel unfamiliar. Staying without retreating to old habits simply because they feel safer.
Each time you write without forcing, your nervous system learns safety. Each time you choose compassion over judgement, new neural pathways strengthen. This is how identity rewires- and it’s not through intensity, but through steadiness.
You are not losing your edge
Letting go of struggle does not make you less serious. Softness does not diminish depth. Ease does not weaken commitment. You are not losing your edge, you are shedding your protective armour.
And when that armour falls away, the story can move through you with far greater honesty and power.
🎧 Want to listen instead?
This article is based on a teaching from the Write the Darn Book podcast, where I guide writers through the inner side of writing: mindset, nervous-system support, identity work, and creative flow.
You can listen on Apple Podcasts here:
👉 https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/write-the-darn-book-beat-writers-block/id1858775581
✨ Want deeper support with your writing?
If this article resonated and you’re ready to understand why writing feels the way it does for you — and how to work with your mind, nervous system, and natural wiring rather than against it — I’m hosting a free live masterclass for writers:
✍️ Write the Darn Book™ — Unlock Your Writing Personality
In this masterclass, you’ll discover:
• Why consistency struggles aren’t discipline problems
• How different writers respond to pressure, structure, and change
• How to work with your natural writing personality to build momentum
• Why understanding your wiring can make writing feel safer and more sustainable
You can find all the details and register here:
👉 https://maddisonmichaels.com/masterclass
There’s absolutely no pressure to join — follow what feels aligned for you.
